want Rizzo to change his mind, out of the blue, like some bastards. Ten million lire, after all, is still ten million lire.”
~
Giallombardo told him the sergeant had gone to get the key to the old factory but wouldn’t be back for at least two hours; the custodian, who was not in good health, was staying with a son in Montedoro. The policeman also informed him that Judge Lo Bianco had phoned, looking for him, and wanted to be called back by ten o’clock.
“Ah, Inspector, excellent, I was just on my way out, I have to go to the cathedral for the funeral. And I know I will be assaulted, literally assaulted, by influential people all asking me the same question. Do you know what question that is?”
“ ‘Why hasn’t the Luparello case been closed yet?’ ”
“You guessed it, Inspector, and it’s no joke. I don’t want to use harsh words, and I don’t want to be misunderstood in any way . . . but, in short, if you’ve got something concrete in hand, then out with it. Otherwise close the case. And let me say I simply don’t understand: what do you think you’re going to discover?
Mr. Luparello died of natural causes. And you, I have the impression, are digging your heels in only because he happened to die in the Pasture. I’m curious. If Luparello had been discovered at the side of the road, would you have found anything wrong with that? Answer me.”
“No.”
“So where do you want to go with this? The case must be closed by tomorrow. Understood?”
“Don’t get angry, Judge.”
“Well, I am indeed angry, but only at myself.
You’re making me use a word, the word ‘case,’ that really should not properly be used in this case. By tomorrow, understood?”
“Could we make it Saturday?”
“What are we doing? Bartering at the market? All right. But if you are so much as an hour late, your superiors will hear about this.”
~
Zito kept his word, and the Free Channel office secretary handed him the fax from Palermo. Montalbano read it as he headed off to the Pasture.
Young Mr. Giacomo is a classic example of the spoiled rich kid, very true to the model, from which he hasn’t the imagination to deviate. His father is notoriously honorable, except for one peccadillo (more of which below), the opposite of the late lamented Luparello.
Giacomino lives with his second wife, Ingrid Sjostrom, whose qualities I have already personally described to you, on the second floor of his father’s villa. I shall now enumerate his exploits, at least those I can remember.
An ignorant dolt, he never wanted to study or apply himself to anything other than the precocious analysis of pussy, but nevertheless he always passed with flying colors, thanks to the intervention of the Eternal Father (or more simply, his father). He never attended any university courses, though enrolled in the medical school ( just as well for the public health). At age sixteen, driving his father’s powerful car without a license, he ran over and killed an eight-year-old boy. Giacomino, for all practical purposes, never paid for this, but the father did, and handsomely at that, compensating the child’s family. As an adult he set up a business in services.
Two years later the business failed, Cardamone lost not a penny, and his business partner nearly shot himself.
A revenue officer trying to get to the bottom of things found himself suddenly transferred to Bolzano. He is currently in pharmaceuticals (imagine that! Daddy’s the brains behind it, of course) and throws around a lot more money than he probably takes in.
An enthusiast for race cars and horses, he has founded a polo club (in Montelusa!) where not a single game of that noble sport has ever been played, but there is plenty of snorting to make up for this lack.
If I had to express my sincere opinion of the man, I would say that he represents a splendid specimen of the nincompoop, of the sort that flourish wherever there is a rich and powerful father.At age twenty-two he contracted matrimony (isn’t that how you say it?) with one Albamarina (Baba, to friends) Collatino, from a wealthy Palermo business family.Two years later Baba went to the Rota with a request for annulment, on the grounds of manifest impotentia generandi on the part of her spouse. I forgot to mention that at age eighteen, that is, four years before the marriage, Giacomino got one of the maids’ daughters pregnant, and the regrettable incident was, as usual, hushed up by the Almighty.Thus there are two possibilities: either Baba was lying or the maid’s daughter was lying. In the uncensurable opinion of the holy Roman prelates, it was the maid who had lied (how could it be otherwise?), and Giacomo was incapable of procreating (and for this we should thank the Lord in heaven). Granted her annulment, Baba got engaged to a cousin with whom she’d already had relations, while Giacomino headed toward the foggy lands of the North to forget.
In Sweden he happened to attend a treacherous sort of rally race, the course of which ran around lakes, crags, and mountains.The winner was a tall, beautiful blonde, a mechanic by profession, whose name is, of course, Ingrid Sjostrom. How shall I put it, my friend, to avoid having it all sound like a soap opera? Coup de foudre, followed by marriage.They have now been living together for five years, and from time to time Ingrid goes back home and enters her little auto races. She cuckolds her husband with Swedish ease and simplicity.The other day at the polo club, five gentlemen (so to speak) played a party
